So without further ado, His Midnight Sun (Crescent Creek 3 – and final book) by Viviana MacKade, a romantic suspense story.

Synopsis.

Tormented, fierce, and broken, sculptor Aidan Murphy has judged himself guilty. He yearns for love but pushes everyone away. He longs for acceptance but has lost the key to open his heart. Until he meets Summer Williams. Beautiful and smart, Dr. Williams promises haven for a man who believes he deserves none. All he has to do is let her in and risk his heart and soul.

Summer’s managed to keep her inner light alive, even through tragedy. She’s created a new life for herself and her daughter in Crescent Creek with loving, caring and fun friends–well, except brooding, breathtaking Aidan. She’s used to keeping away from his type, though. All she has to do is ignore the pull of a man who’s turning up to be much more than snarls and storms. Will her compassion and medical instincts let her?

Love can heal a broken soul and shake up a timid heart. Or it can unleash devastation and revenge.

The simple, brown casket entered the cremation chamber accompanied by the soft crying of the mourners.

A sister. So-called friends. No mother or father in the crowd–a small blessing, as no parent should live to see a son’s death. Even more so when he’d committed suicide. Grabbed a gun, let the black hole of desperation drench his mind and pulled the trigger. The maid said he’d cursed one name right before he ended all: Summer.

Pain and anger rattled through Lilith Chapman. Along with Stephen’s brain, her heart had shattered that day.

Lilith had known she could save him, had always known. With time, she’d have made him forget he’d ever loved anybody but her.

He didn’t give her time.

His sister had pressed him to visit doctors. Depression, she’d called it.

Bullshit.

Love killed Stephen.

Sweet Stephen. A gentle, caring soul who only wanted affection and care. No harsh word ever left his mouth; his hands knew no fists.

With him, Lilith never had to face fear. She knew all about it thanks to her father first, and her deceased husband later. Not with Stephen. Never with him. For the first time in her life, she’d been the strong one, the one leading. Day after day she’d listened to him, to the winnings and the losses of a man who possessed everything. Money, power, a place in society. Not someone to share it with, though. Until, silly man, he’d believed he’d found The One: Doctor Summer Williams. A woman who had left him with a few words and no remorse.

Lilith had watched his heart shatter with a singing heart. With patience, had held his hand while Stephen spiraled down and downer in a place always darker and more desperate. She only had to wait. Once he hit the bottom he’d realize Summer was not worth it. Stephen would finally open his eyes and see her, Lilith.

At the bottom though, he’d found a gun.

And now she had nothing.

Sure, he’d left her money, a lot of it, enough she didn’t have to worry about working or anything else anymore. Too bad she didn’t care for it.

She wanted Stephen, but Summer Williams had taken him away forever.

And for that, Lilith would bring tears and blood.

Summer’s tears and blood.

She, Lilith, was going to own his final words of hate, carry on his vengeance and make sure Summer Williams witnessed the crumbling of her world. Everyone she held dear would perish in front of her eyes. And then Lilith could go to him, where they would be together. Forever.

With no fight left in him, Aidan Murphy sank down on the wooden floor of his home studio.

Done.

Aidan filled his burning sight with the finished, almost 7 feet tall piece of art. Hell to work on, pure and simple, but it couldn’t be helped, not when it had called to him with such powerful voice.

Weeks earlier, he’d been wandering around the stone-site when his skin began humming, and his heart beating faster. Years of sculpting had taught him how to hear the calling, the silent scream of whatever form lay trapped inside the rocks begging him to free it. He’d followed his guts like so many times before and laying a palm on the cold, white alabaster, had known something waited in there. He’d bought the squared monstrosity, never stopped working on it since the day it had been delivered to his address. At every bite of the masonry blade, at every kiss of the chisel and caress of the rasp, its voice had been easier to hear, pushing him, constantly pushing him to keep going, keep working.

At every bite of the masonry blade, at every kiss of the chisel and caress of the rasp, its voice had been easier to hear, pushing him, constantly pushing him to keep going, keep working.

A couple had emerged from the stone and if beauty could hurt, by God, this one would in so many ways. Those two people were set to break any viewer’s heart. Nothing happy or gleeful about them, nothing about being lost in the fallacy of love, the pair stood in a tight embrace made of disillusion and reality. Rightfully so, because wasn’t love just that? Another form of pain? A delusion?

Aidan shook his head. Whatever love was for the average person, these two people he’d given life to scratched at the thick walls of his reticent heart. He didn’t care for such shit.

Much smarter to focus on his very real, very tired body.

Too bad the small motherfucker rock poked at the edge of his consciousness, staring at him from the opposite side of the room. Not the colossal couple he’d just freed from alabaster. Oh, no, the one giving him attitude was a stupid overgrown pebble slightly smaller than his fist. Why was it even in the house? He’d cut outside, it made no sense for it to be there. “Shut the fuck up,” he grumbled, rubbing exhausted eyes with scarred, dirty hands.

Never a stone’s call had been left unanswered, but… fuck it, it was too much, too soon. He needed time to return human before starting a new project and besides, what could possibly be inside that little piece of shit? A fucking bug? “Fuck off.”

Of course, the nagging didn’t stop.

Ignoring the silent pull to the useless stone, he got up, walked to the other side of the room, picked it up and all but crashed it on his desk. “Better leave it alone, matey. Next time you bug me, I’ll turn you into sable. Ugly fucker.”

Aches pulsed and hissed everywhere; a thin layer of dust, crumble of wax, and sweat covered him, made his skin prickle. For all the good clothes had done to him, he might as well work buck naked next time. But back in front of the new statue he stood, hands on hips, looking at it–tall and strong, fiercely beautiful in its message of pain. Perfect.

A sudden ray of light stabbed his eyes, made him jerk his head in protection. Fucking morning sun. Or afternoon sun. He had no clue. It was hard to tell the passing of time when he got lost in the wild, strenuous journey into the heart of a rock.

How many days had gone since it had been delivered and he’d started working on it, four? Probably more as not bruising the stone had slowed everything down. He’d heard fireworks in the distance, so Independence Day had come and gone. Hard to say how long had passed after it.

For days he’d eaten bread straight from the plastic bag or some other easy crap when hunger punched his stomach; had drank lukewarm water from bottles scattered everywhere; slept on the couch when he made it so far from the sculpture, although most of the times he’d pass out on the hard floor until discomfort woke him up, and he’d go back at the rock again.

Ah, but what an adventure, he thought with awe as he ran a hand over the side of the sculpted woman.

Now he was done, meaning he didn’t want to have anything to do with stones for the near future.

He took a sharp intake of air when the little rock on his desk poked at his mind again. No clue as to when but at some point, the cleaning crew would come, let’s see how the rock would like it. “If I throw you back on the floor, they will get rid of you. That’s right, they’ll throw you away,” he croaked, his damned throat hurting from not having talked in days.

Aidan sat down, stretched his aching legs in front of him, and tried to lean back on his arms. His muscles screamed in protest.

Shit, he was in pieces, worse than usual.

Giving up, he laid on the dirty floor and closed his eyes–they scratched like sandpaper.

Bed. He craved a bed more than the next breath. Decent food. A shower. After that, the little stone would stop being a bitch and leave him alone. It was only a fucking pebble, a leftover from the couple and too small to have anything special in it, anyway.

He’d wait five minutes, no more, and he’d get up, order food, hit the shower and, finally, pass out on a real bed. Satisfied with the carved couple, clean, and with a full belly.